Chapter 30: Feeling Out the Path

Jiang Man paced her room, pondering a hundred ways without reaching any conclusion, feeling as if her little world had narrowed with this dim midnight.

Though she couldn’t identify the reason, she wasn’t blind.

Shen Wen treated her differently from others.

Looking back now, from their first meeting she had treated her with great generosity. Flamboyant and domineering as she was, their ideas and ambitions incompatible as fire and water—still, Shen Wen had never once made things hard for her. Even where Jiang Man fell slightly short, Shen Wen always handled it with a light touch—gentle, one might say.

What did she see in her? Truly only this famous face?

In fairness, if it were only flesh, Jiang Man believed she could indeed fetch a good price.

The thought made her deeply uncomfortable, but the truth pressed closer; she couldn’t pretend ignorance forever.

Shen Wen housed and fed her well, assigned Huailou to instruct her, opened the entire study for her to roam the sea of learning. Such careful cultivation couldn’t be merely to keep her around for amusement.

Jiang Man and those crickets that survived the winter were, in essence, no different.

Rare things—precisely because they were rare—ended up given away, every use extracted.

“A gentleman is not a vessel”…

Jiang Man stopped in her tracks.

Shen Wen had been right after all.

She didn’t dwell further. To claim no fear would be a lie, but given Shen Wen’s power and her own station, such a future was likely unavoidable.

Jiang Man had wondered whether she could negotiate terms with Shen Wen—but with what? The family assets had all gone to Shen Wen as debt payment; the brewery struggled on only by Shen Wen’s pressure; even she herself had been sold into servitude. What leverage did she have to raise the subject?

Bitter as such a fate was, she was a drifting duckweed, carried by the current, powerless to decide for herself—yet she must fight out a path to clear another’s name.

She had more important things to do now.

Jiang Man dug out the carefully stored letters—perhaps Jiang Ling’s final writings.

The handwriting was unquestionably Jiang Ling’s. This dynasty prized letters; since the southern crossing, thanks to the long accumulation of the former Wuyue Kingdom where Lin’an stood, the culture of learning in Jiangnan and Liangzhe had grown ever stronger, and the literate were naturally more numerous than in former dynasties or the borderlands. Skilled copyists existed in the world, but striving to resemble another’s hand, their strokes inevitably grew stiff.

Two “Man” characters appeared on the paper, written the way only Jiang Ling wrote them—miswritten characters, really. The grass-like top he always rendered as the crown of “wan,” a dot, a slash, and a horizontal, and done with it; as for the two “person” radicals below, Jiang Ling wrote them as “shang.” Staring closely, it never looked like a “Man” at all—more like a “wan” that had lent out its “field” and drowned in the flood for its trouble.

Old memories from her maiden days surfaced, and the corners of her mouth lifted faintly—then, before she knew it, tears came pattering down. Coming to herself, Jiang Man quickly took up a handkerchief. She had duties tomorrow; this was no time for grief.

With the differences among tributed, official, and imitation Clear Heart Hall papers still on her mind, she steeled herself, folded out a strip of blank margin from the letter, scraped it fine with her fingernail, cut it off, and tucked it into her money pouch. Examining it closely by candlelight, she found the paper exquisitely fine, far beyond any fine Jiangdong Paper—but as for resembling what was stored in the Pavilion of Investigating Things, she couldn’t say.

Yet neither could she say in what way it differed from the Pavilion’s stores.

As she was stowing things away, sounds came from outside. Jiang Man put the letters away and went to the window. Two blurred figures in the garden—one holding a lantern, giving instructions; the other listening carefully—who could they be but Ke Ye and one of the South Courtyard’s maids?

Ke Ye looked utterly worn—exhausted, no doubt. Though her back was straight, her shoulders hunched badly, one hand kneading her left shoulder, leaving in the darkness the silhouette of an almost stooped figure.

The two finished talking quickly. Jiang Man pretended to have seen nothing, sitting at the table waiting for Ke Ye to come in.

Yet Ke Ye pushed the door open bright-eyed, smiling, full of energy—not half a trace of how she’d looked before.

Ke Ye curtsied. “The Young Miss has returned. I gave instructions just now; you can wash up at once—you must be tired, busy so late today. Shall I prepare some refreshments, to eat before you rest?”

Watching Ke Ye force her spirits, Jiang Man felt a small ache, and a hundred unspoken sorrows knotted within—as if she knew the pain’s very name, yet a great stone blocked her throat, letting out only whimpering sounds, leaving all who couldn’t share the feeling wholly unaware.

She steadied herself slightly, suppressing her emotions as best she could, and asked, “Ke Ye, what do you do these days?”

Ke Ye started, then came to stand at Jiang Man’s side, hands lowered, voice small. “In reply to the Young Miss—these days I only run errands and do odd jobs, learning the roads and the doors. It costs some legwork, but the work isn’t heavy.”

Jiang Man lowered her eyes.

If there were some way to transfer Ke Ye to serve in the Pavilion of Investigating Things, that would be convenient; failing that, leaving her in the South Courtyard would presumably be more restful.

“Young Miss.” Ke Ye crouched down, looking at her. “Is something weighing on you?”

Jiang Man drew out a low stool. “Sit.”

Ke Ye was taken aback. “How could I—”

“Sit.” Jiang Man insisted.

Ke Ye stammered through a round of protests but was finally driven back by Jiang Man’s unwavering gaze, sitting down with extreme care, not knowing where to put her hands—wringing them together, then folding them on her knees.

Only when she was seated did Jiang Man say, “I’ve watched you toil all day; I won’t have you pretending all is well before me. You and I depend on each other now—what harm in sitting at the same table? Could it diminish me? Or do you fear it would be too great an honor for you?”

“This servant wouldn’t dare—” Ke Ye moved to rise again, was pulled back down by Jiang Man, her unease plain.

Jiang Man continued, “There now—stretch your legs and just listen.

“I’d thought, since you keep the night watch tonight, this could wait till morning. But though nothing urgent presses on me, you’re different—you’ll doubtless be up before dawn arranging things. So I’ll tell you now, so you can be prepared.”

Ke Ye nodded, somewhat fearful. “Please speak, Young Miss.”

“Lu Ping may have fled.” Jiang Man’s tone was calm. “Jade Emperor Mountain sits right beside West Lake, not far from the city, its slopes gentle, habitation all around—its height likely under a hundred zhang. Either my brother is no longer on that mountain, or what’s on Jade Emperor Mountain is only a…”

Jiang Man drew a breath. “Only a corpse. Months without word—my brother has likely been murdered.”

“This—this—” Ke Ye’s eyes were full of panic; in her alarm she even gripped Jiang Man’s wrist. “What inauspicious talk! Fie, fie, fie—quick, Young Miss, you ‘fie’ too—”

“My brother may already be dead.” Jiang Man cut her off.

Ke Ye went paper-white, drew a sharp breath, and couldn’t speak.

“This came strangely, and I haven’t a single clue in hand. Father’s death was sudden too; considering everything around the funeral, I always felt there was more to it—only, no one anticipated that a Female Scribe Shen whom no one could afford to offend would sweep out of Lin’an, throwing the schemer’s follow-up moves into disarray.”

Forcing herself calm, suppressing the ache in her heart, Jiang Man analyzed coolly with Ke Ye. “Since Lu Ping deceived me, he must have planned this from the start—it was no spur of the moment thing. If he’d long intended to abscond with the funds, then his son Lu Fu, who stayed behind in Lin’an to search, almost certainly never carried out his task either.

“Ke Ye, you grew up in the Jiang household and know all the family’s servants. Where might Lu Ping and Lu Fu flee? Do you have any guesses?”

Ke Ye gripped her own arm tightly with one hand, patting it now and then, clearly forcing herself to calm down. Two streams of tears nearly fell from her eyes; gritting her teeth, grief and fury mingled, she couldn’t answer at once, and Jiang Man hadn’t the heart to hurry her.

Finally, mastering her emotions, she answered—slightly choked, but coherent. “In reply to the Young Miss: Uncle Lu’s family are all Jiankang people; several branches of kin are in Shangyuan and Jurong Counties—they couldn’t get beyond Jiankang Prefecture’s jurisdiction. In all these years, I’ve never heard of connections elsewhere.”

“Their background is murky, and it’s no famine year now—they’d have no way to pass as refugees. If they fled, it must be to kin or old friends.” Jiang Man thought a moment. “Lu Ping’s wife—her ancestral home is around Chizhou, isn’t it?”

“Yes—the auntie is from Qingyang County in Chizhou. But since she made her living all the way in Jiankang, there’s likely no kin or friends to rely on in that region.”

Jiang Man nodded slightly. “I must find a chance to send Uncle Yun a letter.”

With that, she lowered her eyes and fell silent.

Lu Ping had been a trusted man Jiang Rao meant to leave to Jiang Ling. If someone so capable dared such a deed, was Jiang Yun, the steward, truly clean?

All matters within and without, great and small, she had entrusted wholly to Jiang Yun before leaving. Times were hard now; the Jiang Family’s great facade was barely sustained. If Jiang Yun harbored thoughts of lining his own pockets, so long as he wasn’t too excessive, Jiang Man would turn a blind eye.

But if he were entangled in harming the Household Master…

Shen Wen had said plainly before that she’d left people watching in Jiankang. At first Jiang Man assumed this was only to guard against Second Master Jiang and certain scheming clansmen; thinking on it now, she couldn’t help respecting Shen Wen a little more.

Shen Wen was a master schemer; an outsider, yet she considered many things far more deeply than Jiang Man could.

“Young Miss.” Ke Ye pulled her back from her thoughts. “Speaking of which, I’ve been turning over a plan these past few days—though I don’t know if it can be done. I’d like to try for a transfer to the kitchen; a purchasing post would be best.”

Jiang Man understood Ke Ye’s thinking at once and considered a moment. “I’m afraid that won’t do. You want the kitchen for the chance to go out often, correct?”

“In reply to the Young Miss—precisely for that reason.”

“Wherever it is—cloth and fabrics, or grains and livestock—anyone handling purchasing holds a fat post. Think: back home, besides those attending the Household Master’s person, who was most favored, most courted?” Jiang Man pressed her lips. “Your heart is in the right place, but newly arrived, even if you lucked into such a post, you’d easily invite jealousy and underhanded blows.

“Besides, what help you could offer now is mostly heavy carrying and hauling. Young as you are, you’re no beast of burden; such work wouldn’t last. Give up the idea.”

“Yes.” Ke Ye lowered her eyes, offering no argument.

Jiang Man sighed softly. “Apart from you and your sister, I find I have no one to trust. Ke Zhi stayed in Jiankang, fresh off a grave illness—she can’t be counted on. Truly speaking, you alone are reliable.”

At this Ke Ye was somewhat taken aback. “The Young Miss doesn’t trust the Steward?”

Jiang Man looked at her, shook her head, and said nothing.